A New Friend
by Radioactive
Summary: This is just how I think Arthur and Ford met. 10 bucks to whoever can say what day and time the Earth will be demolished.


**Galactic Western Arm**  
**Horsehead Nebula  
Section ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha  
Sun Solar System  
Earth  
Northern Hemisphere**  
**Europe  
****England  
****London**

**Date:  
****April 24, 1995**

**Time:  
****7: 54: 47 PM**

**Time until demolition of Earth:  
****9 years, 4 months, 3 days, 12 hours, 6 minutes and 23 seconds**

* * *

Ford Prefect was thirsty. 

Ever since he landed on Earth five years before, he had found the low moisture level in the air quite unsatisfactory. To some, the small man would've appeared like an alcoholic. But actually, he just needed liquid, and he figured Earth's alcoholic drink beer was much tamer than a Gargle Blaster, and you could stay conscious to enjoy it.

Well, at least for a little while.

Ford worked for the greatest best seller in the history of the Western Spiral Arm, the _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_. It was a guidebook to help the fiscally challenged get to see the Galaxy by doing nothing more than hitchhiking from destination to destination.

Ford knew that there were several hitchhiker guides on other planets. The _Hitchhiker's Guide to Darissia_, the _Hitchhiker's Guide to Haludomn_…Ford found the _Hitchhiker's Guide to Jugalrigk_ particularly useful. Even Earth had it's own hitchhiker guides, like one Ford had bought about four years ago, the _Hitchhiker's Guide to Europe_.

But the _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _was the foremost authority on everything in the Galaxy.

Which is why the makers of the _Guide_ were so rich.

Which is why Ford got a job at the _Guide_.

But what Ford didn't know, at the time, was that since so many other people got a job at the _Guide _for precisely the same reason as Ford did, each field researcher only got 4 Altairian dollars every six months, which is what the _Guide _had to do to be able to pay each field researcher equally.

But it still paid a hell of a lot better than publicist for the _Encyclopaedia Galactica._

By now, Ford had thought that either over the past five years, the amount of _Guide_ workers had mildrupled (the closest English translation of a word meaning "got a thousand times bigger"), and the _Guide _had to pay its workers every couple of years or so…

Or they weren't paying him anymore. Ford was leaning towards one of them.

But anyway, Ford was thirsty, so, at the time when this story starts, Ford was walking into a quaint little pub in the middle of a village of Enderton, which was just a few miles north of London, which he understood to be the capital city of the Earth country England.

As he walked through the door and towards the bar to sit down at a stool, he accidentally bumped into a man walking by him, who subsequently had his glass knocked out of his hand. It shattered on the ground in a puddle of glass and beer.

* * *

Arthur Dent was having a bad day. 

He had tried to take his mind of the impending hesitance of the BBC on his contract by going into the village to get a drink, and in waltzes some thin little man with messy hair, and knocks the glass out of his hand.

Arthur gasped as he watched the liquid seep into the wood.

"Sorry," muttered the man who had ran into him.  
"Sorry?" cried Arthur. "You idiot! That almost hit my foot!"  
"I said sorry."  
"Had you? I didn't notice. That's why I quoted you."

Arthur groaned and sat at the bar.

"Another glass," he muttered to the bartender.  
"Two? So soon?" asked the bartender. "Pace yourself, lad."  
"He dropped his other one," said the man, who Arthur could now see was sitting next to him.  
"You knocked it out of my hand," corrected Arthur.  
"Look, I'll buy you another one," said the man, "if you'll stop whining."  
"Deal."

The bartender walked up with Arthur's glass. The man handed over the money to the bartender.

"Well, if I'm going to spend the next few minutes cursing you," said Arthur, "then I guess I should know who I'm cursing. My name's Arthur, Arthur Dent."

The man paused for a moment, as if trying to remember something.

"Prefect," he then said. "My name is Ford Prefect."  
"Odd. That sounds familiar," said Arthur, taking a sip of his drink.  
"I get that a lot," said Ford Prefect.

Then, Ford Prefect did something strange with his eyes. For a moment, Arthur didn't recognize what he had done, but then he realised he had blinked. Arthur frowned, wondering why he found it strange that Ford Prefect had blinked.

_Had I seen him blink before now? _Arthur asked himself. _I must have… _

"Well, Ford," said Arthur, "I haven't seen you before. Are you from around here?"  
"No, I'm from Guilford."  
"Don't you mean 'Guildford'?"  
"Yes, right, Guildford. Yes."  
"What brings you to Enderton?"  
"Well…I'm an actor. And I came to London looking for work. I haven't really got any for a while, so I took up drinking. And drinks are cheap up here, so I come here…oh, every day."  
"You're an actor? Well, I'm trying to pitch a script to the BBC, maybe you could help?"

Ford paused.

There is a difference between being a good actor and being a good liar, and Ford definitely knew which one he was.

"Well, what kind of script is it?"

Ford didn't listen to the answer.

"Oh…well," said Ford, trying to think of a plausible lie, "I can only do period work, not present stuff. Sorry."  
"Didn't you listen to me?" asked Arthur with a frown. "This _is _period work."  
"Oh, did I say period work? I meant not period work. Just present stuff. Sorry."  
"Ah."

Arthur had a suspicion that Ford Prefect wasn't being entirely honest with him.

"So, you catch the game last night?"  
"What game?"  
"Football."  
"Huh?"  
"Manchester at Arsenal?"  
"So, I don't have any guns."  
"Never mind."

Arthur looked around.

"What have you been in?" asked Arthur.  
"Excuse me?"  
"You said you were an actor. What have you been in?"  
"I was in….uh…in…Doctor Who."

Ford had no idea what Doctor Who was. All he knew was that it was something theatrical from England that had actors in it.

"Really? Who'd you play?"

Ford paused.

"Doctor Who."  
"You played Doctor Who?"  
"Hey, want another drink?"  
"Well, I've got one right here in my hand—"

Just then, Ford knocked the glass out of Arthur's hand. It shattered on the ground.

"That's getting really annoying."  
"Don't panic."

Ford whistled for another beer. The bartender handed it to Ford, and Ford handed the bartender the money.

"Thank you," said Arthur. He reached for the drink. Ford pulled it away.  
"Hey!" said Ford. "Get your own drink!"  
"But…why'd you smash my drink if you weren't going to replace it?"  
"For fun."

Ford took a huge gulp of the drink.

Arthur glanced at his digital watch.

"I'd better go," he said.  
"What's the rush?" asked Ford.  
"This place closes in ten minutes."  
"And?"  
"And I don't have time to order another drink."  
"And?"  
"I'm out of money."  
"And?"  
"I can't buy anything else here."  
"And?"  
"You sound like a broken record player."  
"I do? Is that good or bad?"  
"Uh…bad?"  
"Oh. Sorry. I'll try to stop."

Ford finished off his drink.

Arthur got up and began to walk off towards the door.

Ford got up and followed him outside.

Arthur didn't notice Ford until he saw him standing on the other side of his car in the car park.

"Ford," said Arthur. "What is it?"  
"I'm drunk."  
"You only had one drink."  
"I have a bottle of scotch before I got here."  
"Then why'd you go to a bar if you already had a bottle of scotch?"  
"I ran out of scotch."  
"Need a ride?"

Ford looked up at the night sky.

"More than you can imagine, Arthur," he said.  
"Jump in."  
"Thanks."

Ford smiled at his new friend.

He got in the car. Arthur began to drive off down the road.

There was a pause.

"Got any scotch?"


End file.
